Flight
by androidilenya
Summary: Elwing and a pair of wings. (Alternative readings of history, more or less.)


___For Ulmo bore up Elwing out of the waves, and he gave her the likeness of a great white bird, and upon her breast there shone as a star the Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Eärendil her beloved..._

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Silmarillion_, Chapter 24:Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

* * *

_This is a foolish dream_, Eärendil told her once, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth and a hatefully gentle note in his voice, as though he were speaking to a child. She had slapped his hand away and stepped back, hand closing protectively around a wooden rod.

_I did not need your approval,_ she had snapped, and he had chuckled ruefully.

_You never do._

She had slammed her palm down on the workshop table, sending shavings of wood drifting up. _This is no more foolish than anything _you _have ever done._

He had not said anything about the projects she spent her evenings hunched over since.

When he left her again, she retreated into her workshop, sketching diagrams on scraps of paper with enough force to leave splatters of black ink on her fingers. The lines looked like weeping wounds in the parchment, ink smudged from where she had pressed down too hard.

Marvelous devices blossomed from beneath her fingertips, metal and wire and wood almost alive.

She crumpled them all up, let them gather on the floor.

All except one.

One that she bent over, running her fingers along the inked lines and mouthing calculations under her breath––this much wood, and a larger surface area for an increased weight––

She stood, abruptly, and swept out of the room to search for supplies.

* * *

Sirion burned, and Elwing fled to the highest cliff, a bundle of wood and waxed cloth slung across her back, bumping against her knees with every step she took. The air rasping in and out of her lungs tasted of smoke, and she imagined the cramped workshop going up in flames, all her papers falling to ashes.

Footsteps followed her up the path, feet sending pebbles skittering down the steep slope. She risked a glance back and caught a glimpse of flame-red hair.

_Good,_ she thought distantly, hand instinctively going to the shining jewel at her throat. The kinslayer had taken the bait.

(His letters she had thrown into the fire, watching the smoke rise before turning back to her bench, tugging cloth tight over a wooden frame.)

She labored up the last few paces, over rocks that scraped her bare feet––she had lost her shoes fleeing from the burning havens, had forgotten where––and halted at the very edge, chest heaving. Far below, the sea crashed against the base of the cliff, white spray blown up by the howling wind.

"Elwing!"

She dropped the bundle, fumbling at the waxed cord she had tied it shut with. The kinslayer was close, his armor clanking as he climbed over the rocks.

"Give me the jewel." His sword rasped out of his sheath and she glanced up, startled. Her tongue darted out over her dry lips, tasting salt and smoke.

"No," she spat, wrenching the cloth aside, forcing her arms into the straps and praying they were the right ones, all the while keeping her eyes on the kinslayer. "Not for anything in the world." She stood and stumbled back until her feet were at the very edge of the cliff. The kinslayer took a step closer and she tensed.

"This can all end." His eyes were hard, grey as the smoke staining the sky above her home. "Hand it over and we _leave_."

Her hands found the cords she needed, closed around them. "Leave the dead, you mean," she said, "like you did in Doriath?"

He lunged for her, sword flashing, and she threw herself backwards. The wind roared past her, chill spray soaking her skin, the sea rushing up to greet her––

She yanked the cords.

Wings of wood and waxed cloth sprang from her back, snapping out and jerking her up just short of the waves. Her dress was soaked through already with salt water, fabric clinging to her skin. The straps cut painfully into her arms, and the one around her waist was a little too loose, but as the wind lifted her up and up she caught a glimpse of the snarl on the kinslayer's face.

She laughed, and the wind tore the sound away from her lips.


End file.
